


scribbles

by kintou



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: (not really a coffeeshop au but it has the mood you know), Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Fluff, JeanxMarco - Freeform, M/M, Oneshot, chiyo kintou, jeanmarco oneshot, marcojean oneshot, marcoxjean - Freeform, snk fluff, snk oneshot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-15
Updated: 2018-08-15
Packaged: 2019-06-28 00:48:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,179
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15696759
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kintou/pseuds/kintou
Summary: Jean finds the book Marco has forgotten on the train, and falls in love with the other boy through the scribbles written in the book.





	scribbles

His eyes moved quickly, from left to right and back. He flipped a page once in a while, sometimes flipping it back as if he had forgotten what the last word on the page had been. In between two fingers he held a thin black pen. He played with it but concentrated on the book. Behind him trees, streets, and buildings raced by. The train moved, unsteady and fast, but he didn’t seem bothered by it. I pretended to watch the city: to stare outside and not at the gorgeous boy. He smiled, a few freckles disappearing in the laughing wrinkles, and then put the pen against one of the pages. I wondered what he was writing, what kind of person would write in a book. I could only see back of the book, but I wondered what he was reading. 

 

_ ‘In a few minutes we’ll reach our next stop,’  _ the conductor called through the speakers. 

 

He didn’t seem to hear any of it, or he didn’t care. It seemed as if nothing could bother him while reading his book, until his phone rang. It was loud, and he seemed shocked by it. He put the book on the chair beside him and searched through his pockets to find the phone. When he had found it he looked at the caller ID. He seemed dubious, a sad look on his face. 

And then he looked up at me. Gave an apologetic smile. For the noise his phone made, maybe, but it made my heart beat in my throat.

‘Hello?’ he picked up. _‘_ Why are you calling?’

He seemed frustrated. The book that had held his entire attention seemed to disappear. 

The train stopped. The guy glanced at me one more time. _ ‘Look, I have to get off the train. I can’t talk right now,’ _ he said to the person on the phone. He quickly took his bag and stood up _. ‘No I don’t think— Listen, that’s a bad idea... Don’t—’  _ I listened to his voice fade as he walked out of the train.

When he had left I glanced outside, just to get one more good look at him. He took the phone from his ear, sighed. Then he took his bag from his shoulder, looked into it, stared up at the train. Straight into my eyes. Wide-eyed. I stared back for a second. Then I glanced at the chair he had been sitting on. 

The book was still lying right there.  

As quick as I could, I grabbed the book, held it up to him through the window. He grinned, started running towards the door of the train. I did the same. 

Then there was a bell.   
The sound of doors closing.  
The train started moving. 

He put his hand to his face, dramatically. Somehow there was still a grin on his face, but it was more an ‘ _ I can’t fucking believe this’ _ kind of grin. I must have stared back at him the same way. Somewhere, I was still glad. Glad that I had had some kind of interaction with the beautiful man, that he had stared at me with thankful eyes.

_ Call Me by Your Name  _ stood on the book in big letters. I stared at it for a while, then read the back cover. The second thing I did was look for a name on the first page. It was empty. I started flipping through the first pages. The train stopped. I put the book into my bag and got off the train. On the way home, I held onto my bag as if it was my most prized possession.

 

* 

  
  


I put a record on, listened to the soft noise the disk made before the music started. The soft sound of rain, even though it wasn’t that rainy outside. It was getting a little warmer even, the world was melting into spring. I lit a cigarette. With it hanging in between my lips I got the book from my bag. I sat down on my windowsill. Stared at the sky, the sun gone behind the flats and high buildings. 

The words written in the book, the ones the author wrote, but also  _ his _ words, were automatically related to him in my mind. I told myself I was looking for a hint to find him, so I could return the book. But on the first pages there were sentences that gave him a voice in my mind. There were lines to quotes like ‘beautiful’, but also ‘think about first love, unhealthy love, think about how  you lose yourself like this character,’ and ‘for gay relationships this is new- yes!’   
I read all of them carefully. Realised that the man was gay. Realised that he knew what he was talking about. Sometimes there were just hearts. Sometimes there were just lines, sad smileys, happy smileys. Some of the pages had the tip of the corner folded, probably so he could find the page easier. 

I didn’t read the book, I read his reading. It was a beautiful story to me. It was probably better that the actual story. I became hooked. I flipped the pages, flipped pages, flipped pages, lit another cigarette, flipped more pages, laughed, grinned, frowned at personal memories written next to the actual story. 

I wanted to know him. I felt like I knew a part of him and I wanted to know all of him. 

But somewhere, there was some kind of bookmark. His story went on, the one I was reading stopped there. At least, that’s what I thought. The bookmarker was more of a card. A simple one, with some animals on the front, all cuddling each other. It looked like the kind of simple birthday card everyone has lying around, and it didn’t seem to fit the man I had in my mind. 

I turned the card around. Read the inscription. 

 

_ Dear Marco, _ it said. 

I stared at the name _ —  _ , I now had a name to go with the person. That was weird, somehow. 

_ I thought you would like this book! I know that you really enjoyed the movie. I hope it will give you some distraction from what happened.  _

What was that exactly? I felt like I was digging too deep into his personal stuff, but I still read the last bit of the note. It was just a name. I didn’t think it would matter. I didn’t know that it would be the only damn thing that would matter. 

_ Love, Armin.  _

That’s all it said. Of course I thought that it couldn’t be the same Armin. It couldn’t be the Armin I knew. Still, I had to know. It was my only hint. Were there a lot of people named Armin? A lot of people named Marco? Hell, I just wanted to meet the guy. Give him this _ — _ apparently pretty important _ — _ book. 

 

I took out my phone and opened Facebook, something that I hadn’t done in weeks (damn, I should really delete that app), and searched ‘Marco.’ The first Marco had 34 mutual friends. I tapped his profile, full of hope, but the guy was blonde. He had a cocky grin on, profile pictures in swimwear with cocktails, looking like a general asshole. 

Reminding myself not to judge all the time I returned to the ‘Marco’ page. Took a look at the second Marco. He had 13 mutual friends. I clicked the profile, but only the profile pic was available for me to see. It was a photo of him, damn sure. He was in the sun, and he was grinning like an idiot, his dark eyes wide open. I stared at the photo for some time. He was beautiful, he really was. 

Alright, just message him. 

I stared at the button to message him, wondered if he’d even open my message. Wondered if he’d realise it was me when he saw my photo. I stared at it, and stared at it, and stared a little bit more. 

Then I closed Facebook, opened my contact list, called. 

_ ‘Hello, Armin speaking.’  _

‘Hey, Armin, dude. It’s me.’ 

_ ‘Jean, I haven’t spoken to you in forever.’  _ I swallowed. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea anyway. He was right. We had all been doing our own things for some time. I saw Ymir and Historia more than I saw him and Eren. I don’t know. ‘ _ But what did you want to talk about? Something important?’  _

‘Important? Not—not really?’

_ ‘Then what is it?’   _ He genuinely sounded curious. 

‘Do you—this might sound a little crazy now—do you know a guy named Marco?’ 

Armin seemed to think for a second, about where I was going with this.  _ ‘Yeah I do, why?’ _

_ ‘ _ This will sound even weirder. Uhm. So I found this book. Well, I didn’t really find it, he left it in the train and I took it.’ No reaction yet. ‘Real gorgeous guy, freckles and all that shit. But anyway, the book had a note with your name on it.’ 

_ ‘I think it’s the same Marco. He has a lot of freckles, darker skin.’  _

_ ‘ _ Yeah.’ 

_ ‘What book is it?’  _

‘Call Me by Your Name.’ 

‘ _ I gave him that. Yeah, I did. _ ’ 

‘Can you give me his number? So I can—you know—return the book.’ 

_ ‘Yeah, I’ll send it.’  _  There was a small silence. I wondered what I could say, but Armin was faster. ‘ _ I think you two would really get along.’  _

‘Yeah?’ 

_ ‘I think he could use someone like you. Maybe you should ask him for coffee.’  _

_ ‘ _ Armin, I can’t do that. You know that I’m—’ 

_ ‘You read that note, right?’  _ I made a noise to agree. ‘ _ You saw that I wrote that he needs the distraction, right? Well he does, and I get the feeling _ — _ ’  _

_ ‘ _ You and your feelings,’ I joked. 

I practically heard him smile.  _ ‘I know, then, that you find him pretty. You said so yourself _ .’ 

‘I—actually—I said gorgeous.’ 

Armin chuckled on the other side of the phone. ‘ _ I’ll send you his number. Tell him that you got it from me. He won’t mind.’  _

_ ‘ _ Alright. Thanks, Armin.’ 

  
  
*

 

Of course I was early. How the hell wouldn’t I be early; I was a nervous wreck. I sat at a small table in front of the coffee shop’s window and started doubting if he even wanted to sit down. Maybe he just wanted to meet here, wanted me to give him the book, and leave. That’s what he had said: ‘Meet.’ Not ‘drink coffee.’ 

I opened the book and looked at his handwriting again. I looked at the messy lines that were pulled under the first kiss. The  exclamation marks he had written next to it. His excitement had me smiling at the book. 

‘That interesting?’ 

I almost fucking dropped the book out of my hands. ‘Fuck,’ I exclaimed. Then I quickly turned around, bright red. 

The freckled boy was grinning at me. ‘I didn’t mean to scare you.’ 

I quickly closed the book and shook my head. Didn’t want to fuck this one up. ‘It’s alright.’ 

Marco sat down in front of me. He was prettier than I remembered him.

And I know, I know that usually people disappoint you when you’ve been fantasising about them a lot. You’ve turned them into the most perfect being in your mind, the one you need, and then when you see them they’re just a person, like they should be. 

But I couldn’t have imagined a man this beautiful. I couldn’t imagine a smile like that, uncountable freckles. He was better the way he was in real life. In front of me. 

‘Did you start reading the book?’ 

‘No, no, of course not.’ 

He smiled. ‘I wouldn’t have minded.’ 

I smiled, looked at my hands. ‘But I wouldn’t have been able to finish it once I had returned it.’ 

‘I would have lent it to you, once I had finished it.’ 

I liked that idea. I liked the fact that he’d do that. ‘You have a lot of faith in a stranger like me.’ 

‘You looked through my book, looked Armin up, messaged me, and then came to this coffee shop, all because you wanted to return this book to me. I think I can have faith in you returning the book the second time too.’ 

I laughed, blushed. ‘I guess you’re right,’ I said. 

The waiter came and asked what we wanted to drink. She grinned brightly and had a cheerful voice; it was like she was singing everything she asked. I ordered a coffee, he ordered a cappuccino. I glanced at him when he was ordering, getting an extra second to look at him shamelessly. The waiter walked away again. 

‘You — ’ I doubted if I wanted to tell him what I was going to say. I had already started, though. ‘You were really into the book, when I saw you. That was cool. I liked that. That’s why I thought it was important to return it.’ 

‘Thank you,’ he simply said. He looked like he meant it, stared at me with his big brown eyes. 

‘I couldn’t really believe you’d forget it, after I saw you like that.’

He blushed. ‘Ah, yeah. It was the call. That was really frustrating.’ 

It seemed that way. He still seemed frustrated about it. ‘You don’t have to talk about it.’ 

He sighed, still smiled though. ‘I might as well. It’s not like it’s a secret or anything.’ The waiter put our coffees down on the table. Marco kept talking. ‘It was a phone call from my ex. It was just around the time that I was doing pretty well. You must have read the note Armin sent me; the book was a distraction, a way of getting myself going. But when it was finally happening he called, wanting to meet up.’ 

‘That sucks. Sounds like an asshole move.’ 

Marco nodded. ‘I hope you don’t mind me telling you that. I hope you don’t mind me being — you know.’

‘Gay?’ 

‘Yeah.’ 

‘You don’t have to call gay, “you know.” I’m bisexual, it’s fine, dude.’ 

He blushed, smiled. ‘I guess you’re right.’ 

‘I hope that shit passes quickly too.’ 

‘It’s fine now. I don’t really think about it now.’ 

I smiled at him. ‘Awesome... That’s great.’ 

He asked about me, my life, what I’d been doing. In my turn I asked him the same things. We chatted like that until our coffee was long gone. When the waiter came to ask if we wanted anything more, Marco looked at me hopefully. That was a glance I hadn’t received in some time. ‘Yeah, yeah sure.’ I said, weak to it, and then I ordered more coffee. 

He told me about his job — he worked as a nurse in a hospital — and I told him about mine. We chatted about our favorite drinks, he told me he made mean lasagna, I told him I made the best omelettes. Simple things like that. It came without thinking about it. 

He was everything that I had wanted him to be and more. That surprised me. I hadn’t thought he’d be this...I don’t know...perfect. More than that, I hadn’t expected him to handle me this easily: without being annoyed, without minding me nervously stumbling over my words. 

But somewhere we had to wrap it up. The store would close, we had had our two drinks, we couldn’t not leave. I noticed that he seemed reluctant. 

‘Maybe I’ll see you around?’ he said softly, dare I say hopefully. 

‘Text me if you finish your book.’ 

‘It’ll be hard to read anything with my scribbles all over every page.’ 

‘I like that. It’s cool.’ 

He grinned. ‘Alright, I’ll text you if I finish it.’ 

He paid for the coffee. He said it was to thank me. I let him; it seemed important to him. The girl behind the counter thanked him cheerfully and he thanked her in return. I guess he was just like that: thankful about every little thing. We walked outside and stood in front of the coffee shop. The sky was dark with clouds; it would rain on the way back. I had no umbrella. 

He walked up to me, reached out, and put his arms around me. It was a friendly hug, and a warm one. It fit him, to hug someone he hadn’t known that long. It made my damn heart beat in my throat, it made my fingers tingle. It wasn’t like me to hug someone. I put my arms around him anyway, nervously. It was worth it. 

‘Thank you for returning my book.’ he said. 

He smelled a little bit like vanilla. 

I said, ‘Any time.’ 

  
  


*

  
  


Any time? Really, Jean? When the hell would something like that happen again? I laid on my couch and stared at the ceiling, repeating the whole meeting in my head. Mainly thinking of Marco’s grin, that grin, that grin, over and over again. Had I made him grin like that? I could hardly imagine. Maybe he actually thought I was nice and funny, as weird as that seemed to me.

I wondered if he was reading now. Where he was reading, in what position, with what kind of drink. I looked to the side, to my table, and watched my cold coffee. 

Maybe I could text him that I had a good time? It wasn’t anything weird. I could thank him for paying for the coffee. I reached out and took my phone from the table. Stared at the time for a bit. 23:40; not really the best time to text someone. I scrolled through Instagram. Eren and Armin had posted a cheesy selfie with Mikasa in the background, a bunch of bloggers were promoting their videos, a few photos of fancy dinners. I checked my mail: nothing. I looked for updates on YouTube; there were just a few science channels. The clock said 23:47. I opened our conversation. _ ‘Hello Marco, this is Jean. I got your phone number from _ — _ ’   _ I scrolled through. ‘ _ Oh my god, that’s amazing! I’m so glad _ — _ ’    _ and then there was a meeting place, a time, a few more thank-yous. Nothing really interesting to stare at. 

I put on Netflix and clicked on a random movie. Sleep wasn’t going to get me early today anyway. 

02:34, that’s what the clock said. I guess that’s right. 02:34 and my phone screen lit up. The movie had ended and I had been doing some staring at the ceiling again. I was getting to know my ceiling better than I ever had. There was a brown spot right above the table; it was light, but it was certainly there. Still I tore my eyes away from the ceiling, to my screen. There was a message. I reached out and took my phone from the table. With tired eyes I read the messages. 

**_Marco_ ** _ 02:34 _

_ I finished the book in one evening!  _

**_Marco_ ** _ 02:35 _

_ Oh my god, I didn’t notice what time it is. I’m sorry. Good night! _

I grinned at my phone like an idiot. 

**_You_ **

_ No problem at all, I was still awake.  _ _  
_ _ How was the book? _

**_Marco_ **

_ I guess it was good. It was nice.  _ _  
_ _ I’m a little sad about something I  _ _ can’t _ _ spoil for you. You’ll find out (;  _

**_You_ **

_ Ah, alright. We’ll talk about it when I read it too. _

**_Marco_ **

_ I’d really like that (:  _

What the hell did that mean? What even was that smiley? 

**_Marco_ **

_ Maybe I can come bring the book tomorrow. I have something to do in the neighborhood you said you lived in. Unless that makes you uncomfortable…  _

Hell yes I wanted that. There was really nothing I wanted more than seeing him again tomorrow. 

**_You_ **

_ That would be cool. I’ll send my address. Come whenever, I work at home tomorrow.  _

**_Marco_ **

_ Alright. I guess I’m goin to bed now. I’m tired.  _

_ Good night, Jean.  _

I stared at that message for a while, knowing I would. 

**_You_ **

_ Sweet dreams, Marco. _

Maybe that was too sweet, too much. At that moment I couldn’t really care less. 

 

 

 

I really didn’t have to clean my apartment and buy snacks. But here I was. Looking around my apartment for random socks that I had forgotten. Snacks for days in my cabinets. 

When the bell rang, I ran down the stairs to get the door. He was waiting for a smile, already holding the book in his hands. 

‘Hey, Jean.’ 

Mayday mayday, he was still pretty. ‘Hey, nice to see you again.’ I sounded breathless. I’d have to stop that.

He held the book out to me. ‘There you go,’ he said. 

I took the book from his hands, to not make him wait, and then I nervously mumbled a quick ‘Would you like to come in?’ 

He smiled, nodded calmly. ‘Only if you’re comfortable with that.’ 

I liked the fact he constantly asked if I was comfortable with everything. With him I was; it felt as if he didn’t even have to ask. But he read that I was someone to easily feel like my space was invaded, to get anxious. I dared to bet that he had noticed, and that that was why he was asking. 

‘Yes. Come in.’ 

I asked him what he wanted; he asked for tea, and I got it for him. He sat down on my couch. I pushed the window in my living room open, sat down on the windowsill. He looked around my apartment; I let him. He stopped at the sight of the books piled up on my table, around the couch, on every windowsill. 

‘You ought to get a bookcase’

I gripped my coffee cup a little tighter. ‘Nah, I like it this way.’ I stared at the brown drink, at my feet, back to my drink. 

‘Are you alright?’ 

‘It’s really nothing.’ 

‘Tell me about it.’

I looked up at him. Big mistake. He was looking at me with bright eyes, a smile on his face. He didn’t see my anxious behaviour as grumpy, or closed. It made me want to speak to him. 

‘I don’t know. It’s just that, when looking for your name in that book, I figured out a lot about what you like, or don’t like. I read a lot about your emotions. I feel like I know you, kind of, and you don’t know me. It — fuck I don’t know — it makes me feel a little guilty.’ 

When I looked up, done talking, he was still smiling brightly. He looked surprised, sure, but also amused. Or happy? Was it happy?

‘Guilty?’ he asked. I nodded. ‘For knowing me?’ 

‘Yeah.’

He thought for a second. Looked at the book he was holding. ‘Then...how about you read the book the same way? You say what you feel, think, and when you’ve finished it, I’ll read the book again.’ 

I stared at him. At that moment he was crazy to me. He was amazing to me. I fell in love with him all over again. He was grinning like an idiot, too. 

‘Really?’ 

‘Why not?’

‘Well it’s not a bad idea, I guess. Why the hell not?’

He grinned even brighter than before. That’s how we decided to get to know each other better, more. He was allowed to know me like I knew him. 

I moved to the couch and sat down next to him. He placed the book on the table and took his tea. He stared at me. I pretended my coffee was the most interesting thing in the world. 

‘What’s your favourite book?’ he asked. And like that I started talking. I told him about my favourite book,  _ The Wind-Up Bird _ , and he listened carefully. He hadn’t read it, wanted to know everything about it. He told me about his favourite book while he drank his tea slowly, letting it become colder with every sip. 

Somewhere in the conversation he got an idea. He took the book off the table and a pen out of his bag. He yelled something like ‘wait!’ and I waited for him to do whatever he wanted to do. He was grinning the whole time, his freckles moving with his expressions. I just stared and stared and stared at him. 

He opened the book on the first page, put his pen to the paper. I watched his hand move carefully. ‘ _ Marco’,  _ he wrote in big, cursive letters. 

I chuckled.  ‘At least now I know it’s yours if I don’t retu — ’ 

He silenced me by writing on. He made a big ‘ _ &’  _ sign, and then he wrote ‘ _ Jean’. _

‘Why did you write my name?’ 

‘It’s as much yours as it is mine.’ 

‘But — no, no it’s not. You don’t even know if I’ll return it. You barely know me.’ 

Marco rolled his eyes playfully and put the book in my hands, but didn’t let go of it himself. Then his fingers moved slowly to touch my fingers, softly. ‘You think I don’t know you?’ he asked. 

‘I don’t know.’ 

‘I think I know you, a little.’ 

I swallowed. Bit my lip. ‘Yeah?’ 

‘And I think you’re a really good guy. Sweet.’ 

I cracked a smile. ‘Don’t tell Armin that, he’ll change your mind.’ 

Marco’s hand moved further into my hand. He was smiling too, cockily. ‘I don’t think he can.’ 

‘Ah — you — you’re a real weirdo.’ 

He grinned brighter than I had seen him do since I had met him. ‘That’s fine,’ he said. With that he let go, left the book in my hands, got up. ‘I’ve got to go.’ 

I stood up too. ‘I’ll tell you what I think about the book.’ 

‘Sure, you can text me about other things too. I’d like that.’ 

We walked down my stairs to the front door. I wanted him to stay, but he had places to be and I had no right to do anything about that. He opened the door and then stood still in the doorframe. ‘It was nice seeing you again, Jean. You have a nice apartment too.’ 

‘Thanks.’ 

I looked up at him. He was looking at me bright-eyed. He stepped in, for a second. Leaned in, put his hand on my upper arm. ‘Thank you for the tea, and for making that book exactly what it was meant for: enjoying myself again, feeling good.’  

And with that he put his hand on my left cheek, and his lips to my right cheek. He gave me a quick, but very soft and controlled peck. I just stood there. Didn’t know how to react, and then he pulled back again. He managed to hide his blush, but I could see it underneath his soft smile. My blush was probably obvious, bright red. You know what? I couldn’t even care.

  
  


* 

 

I looked at the different coloured pencils. His had been black, sometimes blue. I picked one red pen from the aisle, bought that single red pen. 20 cents, for the sake of falling in love.

 

*

  
  


There was a difference in the lines he had written before he had lost the book and the ones he’d written after I had returned it. The ones before he met me were drawn with something different in mind; there were sad statements (a lot of those), there were some memories written down next to it. But the ones after he lost the book were hopeful. With the quote ‘ _ Tomorrow is today’ _ he had written, ‘ _ Don’t wait for something to pass, don’t be afraid to choose something new right  _ _ now _ _ because you think the time isn’t right yet.’  _ There were more quotes like that. Some a lot more vague. Some were just quotes from the book. But, at the risk of sounding cocky, I’d say that these words were not meant for his ex, not for his past, not for his friends. These words were meant for me. For me and for himself. 

I had done enough to him by meeting him once, to change his point of view. Like he had done for me. 

Of course, I read it with him in mind. Sentences like _ ‘“Try again later” meant “I haven’t the courage now.”’  _ did things to me. I mainly put lines. I wrote very little notes to myself, because that just wasn’t really my style. I read and read and wrote with my red pen.

I was being more honest with myself than I had been in a while. 

I was being honest with Marco. 

I wanted to see him, wanted to feel him. 

_ I need to speak to you.  _

_ Good night,  _ I texted him. I wasn’t going to get bolder than that. 

 

**_Marco_ **

_ Thank you. Sweet dreams.  _

_ (Are you still reading?)  _

 

**_You_ **

_ Yeah I am.  _

 

**_Marco_ **

_ Have fun. Don’t go to sleep too late.  _

 

**_You_ **

Can’t promise anything lol

 

**_Marco_ **

_ If you come to me saying you’ve finished the book tomorrow I’ll come to your apartment to kick your ass into your bed.  _

 

I chuckled at my phone at his text. 

 

**_You_ **

_ I’d like to see you try.  _

 

**_Marco_ **

_ ;p  _

_ Anyway, I’m going to bed. Sleep well.  _

 

**_You_ **

_ You too, Marco.  _

 

No, I didn’t finish the book in one night. At some point, maybe it was three o’clock, maybe four, I fell asleep. Marco probably wouldn’t have been happy with that either, but I slept at least. I finished the book the next day, sending Marco cheeky texts about having listened to his ‘mum talk’. He was anything but offended by me calling him a mum.

The next night, around two, I finished the book. In big letters, on the last page. I wrote. My favourite quote from the book:

 

‘ _ If you’re not going to do anything with me _ — _ can you at least read me a story?’  _

 

  
*

 

Don’t ask me why, I’ll sound weak, but I sent the book to him by post. Anxious that he’d see me while reading how I felt. I was afraid of what would happen next. I wanted to give him a chance to ignore me, I guess. To just read what I had written and never get in contact with me again.

Because that was a possibility. 

Only after I had sent the book, I fell asleep dreaming of how he had kissed my cheek. Not short enough to be a casual European kiss, or a thank-you kiss. I replayed it in my head, faster, slower, over and over again. 

I woke up hating myself for not trying harder for someone I actually wanted.

*

 

My noisy fucking phone went off around eleven. I hadn’t slept. Stared at the white screen at first, wondering what was going on, and then I took the phone off my nightstand. Without looking at the caller I took it. 

‘Jean,’ I said, my voice low and husky from sleep. 

‘Yo, dude! Wait, did I wake you?’ 

I took a moment for me to place the voice in my head. ‘Eren? What the hell, yeah you did.’ 

‘It’s eleven, wake the hell up. Anyway are you still good for tonight? Armin told me to make sure you’d be there because we hadn’t really heard from you.’ 

I opened my eyes, sat up in my bed a little. ‘What the hell is there tonight?’ 

‘Do you even check your Facebook, like ever?’ 

‘Hm, not really. Get to the point dude, I haven’t had coffee yet.’

With that I got up and walked to the kitchen, pushed the big button on the coffee machine, and listened to Eren talk. 

‘It’s my early birthday party because we’re going on a vacation later this month—anyway, there was a Facebook page for it a long time ago and you’re invited.’ 

‘Oh...’  I didn’t really have anything better to do. Except for like... explaining myself to Marco. Telling him that nope, that wasn’t just his imagination, I’m in love with him big time. I pushed the button of the coffee machine again and watched the steaming coffee come out. ‘Who’s coming?’

‘Our friends, some people from my work, some people from Armin’s work.’ 

I took my coffee from underneath the machine. Almost burned my fucking hand on the cup, put it back down again. ‘Who’s coming from Armin’s work?’ 

‘Who the fuck cares?—’

‘Can you pass the phone to Armin for a sec?’ 

‘You’re being weird, not that that’s a surprise.’ 

‘Eren—’ 

‘Listen dude, just come, it’ll be nice. Anyway, I’m busy with buying food and getting this place ready and all. It starts around eight. Just be there dude, stop panicking about whatever the hell your awkward ass is panicking about this time.’ 

‘Thanks for the pep talk’ 

‘Don’t be a dick, see you at eight.’ 

‘You’re one who’s a di—’ 

And with that there was a silence on the other side of the line. I took my phone away from my face and stared at the red cross in the middle of the screen. ‘Marco,’ I looked up. No new messages. He didn’t get the book yet. I wondered if I’d text him something. I put my phone away again, with the screen facing the table. I walked to my window, opened it, and breathed in some fresh air while drinking my coffee. 

I wanted to speak to him. 

I didn’t want to push myself on him. 

I wanted him to be capable of pushing me away. If that was what he wanted. 

The coffee tasted good though. The air was nice; it wasn’t warm yet, but not cold enough to keep the window closed all the time. Still in my pyjamas, I sat down on the kitchen table and started working. I had to do something. 

 

The evening came. I had had an omelette and forgot to eat dinner. Worked until seven and then realised it was already time to get ready. I took a quick shower, pulled on black jeans, a white shirt, and a black oversized sweater. One of the outfits I’d always feel good in, one of my ‘no stress but impress’ outfits. 

I don’t know if I was wishing for Marco to come or not. He hadn’t mentioned Eren in any of his stories, and I had the feeling he didn’t really know him. 

Still, I tried to make my hair look alright, something I rarely had time and energy for. Still I stared at myself in the mirror like a thousand times. It’ll be alright, I said to myself, and with that I drove to Eren’s place an hour later than I should have.

 

They had an annoying bell. A really high-pitched one that made noise way longer than you’d pressed it. 

‘Jean!’ Eren yelled when he opened the door, definitely a little bit drunk already. ‘Honestly, dude, I didn’t think you’d show up. Do you have a present?’ 

‘I don’t.’ 

‘Boo, you whore.’ 

‘I didn’t know you had a party until today, Eren.’ 

‘Could’ve bought me some chocolate.’ 

‘I’ll buy you some damn chocolate another time, happy?’ 

‘Yeah, sure, that’s cool.’ We walked into the house he shared with Armin and Mikasa, and as soon as we got to the living room I lost him. I congratulated Mikasa (even though I hadn’t congratulated Eren). Armin was walking up to me as soon as he saw me, smiling one of his famous worried smiles. 

‘Congratulations with Eren,’ I told him. 

He smiled kindly. ‘Thank you.’ We fell into silence for a few seconds. Then Armin sighed. ‘So, Eren said you wanted to speak to me on the phone.’ 

‘Oh — ’ Of course. Everyone had to know about my little freakout, apparently. 

‘Everything alright?’

‘Yeah, sure — all good.’ 

‘Are you still talking to Marco?’ Armin said very softly, carefully. 

My heart stopped at Marco’s name. Who allowed Armin to be this smart and considerate? Not me, nope, never asked for anything like that. ‘Yeah, we’re...we’re cool.’ 

‘That’s good. I couldn’t think of anything else you would want to — ’  I know. I know that Armin was talking to me. I know I was supposed to listen, and that it’s not okay if your entire world stops, becomes silent, just because one guy walks into the room. But it did. Marco walked out of that kitchen, red wine in his hand (of fucking course, red wine, because the guy wasn’t already the most fucking charming guy in the world), and I saw nothing else anymore.

I bet all that could be read in my face, because Armin smiled, waved in front of my face. ‘You alright?’ I nodded. ‘I see. So no problems with Marco?’ 

‘Maybe little bit of a problem with Marco — ’ I mumbled quickly. Oops, word vomit. ‘Do you- do you think that he still loves his ex — do you think that that was important, that — that — maybe I could ,  you know — ’ 

Armin smiled, softly, reassuring. ‘I think he’s a grown man, and that he’ll tell you what he needs.’ I nodded, bright red. Armin looked away. I looked at my hands. ‘I also think that you need to straighten up, because he’s coming this way.’ 

My head fucking snapped up, and I stared at him like I had no shame. 

That was alright because Marco, freckles and all, was staring right back at me. He had a big grin on his face, as if he had no idea he was what had kept me awake the last few nights. 

‘Armin, Jean!’ he cheerfully said. 

I bit my lip. ‘Hey, Marco.’ 

Armin asked if I had been able to return the book. Marco told him the whole story while I just nodded and agreed. Marco spoke with excitement and detail, and it made me happy to know that he had remembered so much, as if it was a special day to him. 

After some casual chitchat, Armin excused himself. He was wearing a smug smile — subtle, so not everyone would have seen it, but he was wearing one. 

‘So...’ I said after Armin had left.

‘Do you want to sit on the couch? It’s less busy there.’ I nodded, followed Marco to the couch. He kept smiling at me; he wasn’t upset with me, it seemed. When he noticed I didn’t have a drink he pushed his glass into my hand, told me to share with him. I did as I was told, sipped his red wine. ‘How have you been?’ he asked. 

‘Fine... I’ve...I don’t know. I’ve been a little on edge, but alright.’ 

‘That’s good.’ He said. He didn’t ask why I was on edge. ‘I’ve been a little nervous too, but nervousness comes with good things, I guess.’ 

I nodded. Hummed a yes. 

‘Do you like the wine? Would you rather have had beer?’ he asked. 

‘No, wine is good. I like it.’ 

He turned to me. Looked me into my eyes, smiled. ‘I’m glad you like it.’ 

I don’t know. I stared right back. I wanted to kiss him. If I had known he’d be alright with this, with me, this would have been a situation to kiss him. His gaze went from my eyes to my mouth to my ears, and it burned. I tried to figure out if he had more freckles on his left or right cheek, as a distraction. 

But he opened his mouth, leaned in a little. My heart sped up. I wondered if he’d kiss me, here, in front of his, my, friends. 

‘Why did you send me the book, without a message or anything?’ he asked instead. 

All I could think was: fair enough. Sure. He has the right. 

‘Anxiety,’ I answered. 

‘What for, Jean? I thought it was all nice, all good?’ 

I swallowed. ‘It was, it is. But — have you read what I wrote?’ 

Marco looked into my eyes, confident, held my gaze. ‘I have. So?’

‘I thought you might need some space, to think about all of that?’ 

‘About beautiful sentences, honest feelings, your opinions.’ I kept nodding. Then he said, ‘About falling in love the right way? About crossing away the memories I wrote down on those first few pages? Honestly Jean, I don’t think I have to think about it, I think we have to talk about it.’ 

‘I — Marco,’ How to answer something like that? I searched for words. The right ones this time. My own words. 

But then I heard a loud voice behind us, like a scream, smelled beer. ‘Jean! Marco! Are you having a g-good time! You guys look sfuckingserious!´ 

Eren. 

I turned around. Frowned at him. ‘Eren, shut the fuck up.’ 

‘We’re fine, thank you,’ Marco, the angel, said. 

Eren screamed again. ‘I didn’t fuckingknow you knew ‘chother! Lookin’ real close and cute too — Oh my god!! Fuckign hell, JEAN! Is Marco the reason you had that frick’fricking panic attack this morning?’ 

Marco looked at me quickly, worried. ‘Did you have a panic attack?’

‘Did not — Eren just thinks so.’ 

‘Wanting to know who the fuck was coming, wanting to speak with Armin. Boy, this boy was a nervous mess! Marco! Run while you can — he’s — ’ 

‘Eren, can you stop being a dick?’

Eren stopped. Grinned. ‘You’re right. Jean. You’re real cute. Take care of him, Marco, he’s real sweet. Very nervous, alway, alway panic, and panic, and panic, and — ’ 

‘We get it, Eren. Can you leave now?’ I asked. 

He grinned. Mumbled a quick ‘whatever’ while walking away. We watched him leave before looking at each other, grinning. 

‘You swear you didn’t have a panic attack? Because if you have those — ’ 

‘I swear Marco, I didn’t have a panic attack because of you. I haven’t had one in a long time. I was just — ’ I blushed, ‘I was just a little bit nervous about you being here too.’ 

Marco smiled. ‘Oh, okay, that’s good.’ I nodded. ‘So, do you want to continue our conversation later, when we’re alone? Maybe just dance for now?’ 

He couldn’t have given a better suggestion. They were only playing ‘80s and ‘90s music. I didn’t really like dancing but damn, damn, with him I’d move a bit. Just to have an excuse to watch how he danced, I’d move a bit. A lot of people were dancing. It would be fine. 

I took some more wine, drank it quickly, and then I took some beer with me to the dancefloor. Marco was having his third, maybe fourth glass, and boy he was dancing. I stood near him and moved my feet while watching him. But Marco — damn, Marco — Marco moved his hips, skillfully and beautifully. It made me gleam, watching him. 

I moved with him, tried, but he moved against me. He had a grin on his face. Said, ‘I love this song’ once in a while while he sang along with the music. Most people were on that level now, drunk and happy. I touched Marco’s hips when he moved closer to me, held him for a while. 

‘Damn, Jean ,  don’t pop a boner on me!’ I heard fucking Eren yell from the other side of the room. I don’t know how I’d looked; maybe I deserved the callout. 

I snapped my head up, ready to yell something back, but Marco put his arms around my neck and danced against me, his mouth next to my ear. 

‘It’s not worth it. Dance with me.’ he said. 

I did as I was told. I let my hands rest on Marco’s hips and moved against him to the cheesy music we used to listen to in high school. He grinned. Sometimes he chuckled. I did too. I don’t know what the hell was so funny, but I was glad that he was happy. I was glad he wanted to smile against me. 

I could feel his mouth curl against my ear. 

You know what, Eren was forgiven, he could have been right. 

‘You’re ... really pretty,’ Marco mumbled. 

‘And you’re definitely too drunk to see clearly,’ I mumbled, smirking, my body pressed against him. 

‘Don’t be — m-mean! I’m drunk, but — I always think you’re pretty.’ 

“Ha, thanks.’ 

‘Hm...’ A slow song came on. Marco swayed. 

‘I-I think you’re pretty too, though. Gorgeous.’ 

‘C’n we talk after the party? I don’t wanta wait.’ 

I held his hip a little tighter. ‘But we’re drunk.’ 

‘Going t’be fine.’ 

 

Of course, we got some people shouting at us when we left together. Not that people didn’t get the hint when Marco was basically grinding his hips against me at some cheesy song, but still. 

We walked into my house, tripping over a shoe or two, saying ‘shit’ a lot, basically being giggly as fuck. I was definitely tipsy, Marco was shitfaced. We touched each other a lot, on the hips, on each other’s ears, we’d even held hands on the way from the car to my house. 

It was half past four. 

It was not a time to talk about stuff. 

‘You want something warm?’ 

Marco looked up from whatever the hell he was looking at, family pictures or something. ‘Do you have hot chocolate?’ 

I chuckled. ‘Anything for you.’ I tried to sound sarcastic; I was not. 

I got some cocoa and warmed some milk in a small pan. Marco was humming some kind of song, it sounded clear. I enjoyed the sound. When the milk was hot I poured it into the cups with some sugar. Steam rose from the drinks. 

Marco had found a blanket in the living room and had wrapped himself up in it. He was sitting on the floor, on my thick woolen carpet, with some pillows around him. It was a sight I’d missed without realising it. It made me feel warm inside. 

‘Here’s your chocolate, sire.’ 

He laughed. ‘You want to get under the blanket with me?’

‘I’d really like that.’ 

He opened the blanket and pushed a pillow so that I could sit against it. His leg touched mine, his fingers slid over the nearest skin it could find. I wondered if we were actually going to talk.

He sipped his hot cocoa slowly. Moaned a bit. ‘This is so good,’ he said. 

‘I’m glad.’ 

In silence he drank his hot chocolate. Holding his mug in one hand so that he didn’t have to take the other away from me. I held my mug in one hand too. Slid the other under the blanket and took his hand in mine, my fingers in between his, stroking the inside of his hand with my thumb. 

He put his mug back on the table, put his head on my shoulder. ‘Thank you, Jean.’

‘You don’t have to thank me.’ 

‘Can I kiss you, maybe?’ he asked. 

I looked at him. His face was already damn close, our noses already touched. ‘Don’t want you to regret anything.’ 

He smiled. ‘You’re so — you.’ 

And with that he moved his nose against mine, pushed his lips on top of mine, and slowly deepened the kiss. When he pulled back he was grinning, snuggled his face further into my shoulder, mumbled, ‘See, nothing to regret.’ 

I pulled him further into my arms and let us fall into the pillows. He smelled like vanilla and something that could only be his own scent. His breath was slow, but his heart beat fast because of the alcohol. He tightened the arms he had instinctively wrapped around me too.  I snuggled my nose into his neck. We were tipsy, probably in love, and I hugged him. I held him like that until I heard him snoring softly, because as much as he said I didn’t have anything to regret, I really wanted to prove it was true this time. 

 

*

 

I woke up because of the bright sun that came through my living room window. That was the first thing I noticed. Soon enough though, I noticed the weight on my sleeping arm. I heard a slow breath. Mine was quickly getting higher and faster. I opened my eyes, saw Marco laying there. His head was laying on my arm, his eyes closed. My heart calmed a bit; Marco looked peaceful. As long as I didn’t wake him up, everything would be fine. 

Marco’s eyes were closed, but his long, dark eyelashes moved. I watched the way his ear was formed, his freckles; studied his face. Then I reached out and caressed his hair. 

‘Hm...’ he moaned softly, pushed his head into my chest. I didn’t really know what that meant so I just kept on caressing his hair. ‘That’s real nice.’ I could barely understand what he said because he was mumbling so much.

‘Goodmorning,’ I whispered. 

‘Hey,’ He pulled back a little and looked at me. His morning eyes made me lose myself. He was so goddamn beautiful in that second. ‘Sleep well?’ 

I swallowed. ‘Yeah.’

‘Does your arm hurt?’ he mumbled. 

‘A little, but don’t get up, he’ll be fine.’ Marco chucked and tightened the hug we were in. 

I let my hand stroke his back. I wondered if he regretted coming here, if he wanted to talk about all that had happened the last week and leave. He was giving me hope though, he cuddled me in the early morning, nothing else screamed ‘I like you’ like that, right? I hoped so.

‘I really like your hair right now.’ 

I snorted. ‘No need to be rude.’ 

‘I mean it. It’s really cute.’ 

I made some noises to disagree, snuggled myself against him a little bit more. My back was hurting. I wanted some coffee. I never wanted to let Marco go, wanted to stay in this position forever. 

‘Shall we have breakfast?’ Marco asked. 

‘I want to stay here.’ 

Marco didn’t react to that. He just kissed the top of my head, stayed still for a bit longer. I liked that. 

‘Maybe we should sleep in the bed next time?’ 

Was he going to sleep over again? Why did he say that so casually? Like he had slept here over a thousand times (and I made him sleep on the floor all the time). 

‘Hm... maybe.’ 

 

No, we didn’t stay wrapped up in the blanket that entire day. We didn’t really get ready and dressed either. Marco got up, telling me that he was going to make me some coffee. Then  _ I _ got up, telling him hell no, he was my guest. I could try to be a gentleman once. I could try to be a morning person, for him. 

Fuck, it had been so long since I had woken up together with someone. He had bed hair. I needed to calm my heart down. 

‘I could make you one of these omelettes I told you about.’ I told him. 

He moaned. ‘I’d love that.’ 

‘D’you mind if I have my coffee first?’ 

‘Before you eat breakfast?’ I nodded. ‘You’re one of those people.’ 

‘No, it’s cool. I’ll have coffee too.’ 

I smiled and pulled two cups from the counter, pushed the button, waited. ‘You don’t have a hangover?’  Marco shook his head, smiled. ‘That’s nice...Good.’ 

‘Yeah, it would have sucked to have a huge headache now.’ 

‘Hmh...’ I pushed the bigger button. Looked at the coffee coming from the machine. Did the same thing with the second cup. Marco had found some sugar and poured it into the first cup. 

‘It’s nice seeing your morning routine.’ 

I chuckled. ‘You want to see my morning routine?’ 

He nodded. 

I took my cup from the machine, put my other hand on Marco’s hip, and led him to the other side of the room. ‘This is my real routine,’ I mumbled. I wanted to share it with him. I wanted to share a lot of things with Marco, a lot of things I had never shared. 

I pushed the window open completely. A cool breeze came in, came through my window and our morning clothes. His hair moved with the wind. I sipped my coffee and looked at him; his eyes were fixated on the street, on people waking up, on people going to work while we stood here. We looked down on them from here, though no one seemed to notice. No one bothered looking up. No one bothered looking at one of the thousands of windows.

‘So this is what you do in the morning?’ 

‘Yeah...’ I pulled my eyes away from the street, looking at Marco again.

He was already staring straight back at me. ‘Jean...was — was that book, every word you wrote, the sentences you pointed out. They were meant for me, right? Were they explaining how you feel? What you want from me?’ 

I fell into a silence. Sipped my coffee. Frowned. Wondered how to answer. Eventually I went with the truth. ‘I — uh — yeah, that’s it. That’s what I did.’ 

Marco put his half empty coffee cup down and put his warm hand on my cheek. Then he kissed me. It was nothing like the kiss he had given me yesterday. He pushed his mouth on mine hard. He didn’t hesitate. He knew he was allowed to kiss me. He tasted like coffee. 

I pulled back. 

‘Wait — M-Marco — ’ 

He looked shocked. 

He didn’t have to — come on, Marco. ‘My coffee, it’s gonna spill.’ I put my cup down on the windowsill, and as soon as it stood steady I pushed my hand into his hair and kissed him again. Moved with him, feeling his tongue against mine. He touched my neck, pushed his fingers into it softly. He was smiling into the kiss. 

He pulled back, this time. ‘I — I got you something.’ He sounded breathless. He walked to his bag, took out a book — the book — and gave it to me. ‘It’s yours. I wrote something on the first page, uhm, I wanted to give it to you yesterday but — you know.’ 

I took the book from his hands and opened it on the first page. The one that said ‘ _ Marco & Jean.’  _

 

_ ‘Jean,  _

_ You made me happy again, and you made me believe in love again.  I thought that love was like the one in this book; that sometimes a happy ending is just not meant to be. You made me believe that’s not true. If you want it too, I’d like to try to get a happy ending this time. _

 

_ Love, Marco.’  _

 

Marco was blushing. ‘I wasn’t planning on letting you read it while I was there.’ 

I stared at the book. Traced the letters he had written. 

‘I’m sorry if I’m moving too fast — ’ 

I closed the distance between us and kissed him, hard, deep. I kissed him over and over again. He smiled into the kiss. ‘You idiot. Of course. I’m — you know — kind of in love with you.’ 

He grinned. ‘That’s cool — that’s yeah, really nice.’ 

‘Shut up.’ I mumbled and kissed him again. ‘You want one of those omelettes?’ 

‘I don’t know. I kind of want to make out and then have an omelette.’ 

‘I can do that.’ 

He chuckled and kissed me again.

‘You’re a real sap,’ I whispered. 

He kissed my cheek, my ear, my hair, my neck. ‘Doesn’t matter. I got you to fall for me.’ 

‘You see? So sappy.’ 

‘Shut up — kiss me.’ 

You didn’t have to tell me twice. 

  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! It would be so nice if you left comments or kudos if you enjoyed this fic. 
> 
> Big shout out to my beta reader (who made this fic readable for people who can actually write proper English) who's on tumblr & ao3 as ' approaching-asymmetry'
> 
> You can find me on tumbr as ' snk-words ' or ' pastelgays '  
> And on instagram as: ' theekom '


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